


Overture

by aurorae



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other, also i heard blooky having smol tiny nubs for hands is a thing and im all a-fuckin-aboard w this, this is pmuch another excuse for fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorae/pseuds/aurorae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk discovers Mettaton’s secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you casually ship something but then youre suddenly too knee deep and cant fathom why the ever fuck but ur diginity has been so long gone that u really have nothing left to lose at this point

There were plenty of things to notice about Mettaton, such as the lustrous sheen of the metal plates encasing his body, his dynamic and dramatic confidence, and his overly-sensationalized compulsion to strike an unscripted pose. Frisk’s personal favorite was Mettaton’s tendency to emphasize his unfaltering boldness by splaying his body over random objects provocatively, sometimes because he could and wanted to, but also because he relished Undyne’s reactions.

Yet the instances Frisk was carried on Mettaton’s shoulders, they were able to observe the robot’s glamorized and coquettish antics wane whenever he encountered Napstablook.

He was prone to fidgeting. He gesticulated more. Frisk even noticed that he was unable to transfer his thoughts into words when he was especially nervous, which caused him to fib his endearments. Napstablook, however, either did not notice or thought nothing of it.

When Mettaton was conscious of his actions around the ghost, his body temperature would fluctuate. Emotions that were derived from dread, mortification, or any other feeling that possessed a negative connotation would dramatically lower his temperature. Whenever he was embarrassed or frazzled, the warmth in his body would rise to a scorching degree. Frisk had the fading burn marks to prove it.

But Frisk was curious, and the idea that they would uncover the truth filled them with determination.

So during one morning, Frisk accepted Mettaton’s offer for nice cream and accompanied him to the Waterfall. Mettaton released their hand, approached the Nice Cream vendor, and then greeted the monster with a charming grin. The vendor spluttered, their hands fumbled as they rifled through their cart to fish a sheet of paper and pen for an autograph.

The vendor received a signed autograph and Mettaton returned with two free nice creams. Frisk did not immediately take the offered cone, but rather pointed at him instead.

With a touch of panic in his voice, he asked, “Is…Is there something on my beautiful face?”

Frisk shook their head, then wiggled their finger.

“Oh! Do you mean me?” Relieved and no longer alarmed, he regarded the child with a snicker. “What about myself?”

Frisk joined their thumbs and forefingers to form a heart. Trying to interpret the statement, Mettaton said, “…Love?”

They nodded. Frisk spread their arms and imitated a spooky wave.

Mettaton blinked. “Perhaps charade is not my forte, but do you mean ghosts, pumpkin? I don’t know of any gho-” Realization dawned over him as he cut himself off and broke the cones in his grip. The cream slithered over his knuckles and dribbled between his fingers.

Mettaton gaped, unable to form a response.

Frisk watched the nice cream broil against his hands.

* * *

Mettaton held his breath and counted to ten in his head. He released a heavy exhale before knocking on Napstablook’s door. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Frisk poking their head out from the side of the house and encouraging him with a thumbs-up. They immediately withdrew over the blaring creak of the door.

Mettaton’s expression lit up. “Sweetheart!”

Napstablook hovered over the doorway, the neutral, fine line of their frown twitched. “I wasn’t expecting company,” they admitted. Napstablook turned their body slightly to give their household a brief, visual sweep. “Oh no…I should have tidied up.”

“Blooky, your home is always absolutely inviting!” he assured. A comforting sensation of relief eased his nerves when Napstablook perked the smallest smile. “And while I do enjoy lying on the floor with you and watching my amazingly stunning self on the television, I was wondering whether you’d like to join me on a little excursion to Snowdin.”

The ghost hesitated and Mettaton began to inwardly fret. He kept his calm, though, when he glimpsed at the scribble on each of his fingers. Frisk wrote motivational phrases on his hands, and it was hard not to feel a surge of confidence from comments like “You can do it!” or “Your hair looks perfect enough to ‘wow’ someone today!”

Napstablook nodded. “Okay.”

As the ghost took the lead, Mettaton closed their door and followed, but he spared a glance over his shoulder before leaving the area. Frisk gave him  _two_ thumbs-up.

* * *

Garbed in a large bubble coat that made them unable to lower their arms to their sides, Frisk waddled behind a mound of snow. They stiffly waved at Mettaton, who waved back while Napstablook was not looking.

Mettaton had entered Grillby’s, but returned to his cousin with a warm cup of hot chocolate and a scarf draped over his arm. Napstablook took tiny sips of the transparent liquid while he wrapped the scarf around their body, which was ultimately complemented by a large, neat bow fashioned over their center. They were unable to feel cold, but did not decline the offer.

There were a couple of young monsters outside also frolicking in the snow, the ambiance of their elated giggles were droned as Mettaton concentrated on helping Napstablook form the base of their snowman.

As he evened the ridges on the secondary mound, Napstablook hovered to the front of the snowman and inspected their progression.

They were content.

Until a monster child pelted their back with a large snowball. Colliding against the snowman, all Napstablook could see was white.

“Blooky!” Mettaton gasped. He dusted the snow peppering their back, then slipped his hands beneath the ghost’s stubby limbs and heaved them forward. 

“Sorry,” they said, voice guilty. “I knew I’d ruin it somehow…”

“It’s not your fault, darling.” He reeled Napstablook into his arms and tucked them beneath his chin. “We can make another! And you know what? I have an idea,” he hummed, then released his cousin.

Napstablook was left to create his own snowman, as per Mettaton’s request, and while they wanted to construct a larger snowman, the ghost could barely carry more than a small lump at a time with his nubby hands. Mettaton did not allow them to steal a glimpse of his work, but they could make out a strange, rectangular formation building up in length.

They made many miniature snowmen with pebbles on their heads for hats. They looked to Mettaton when he announced he was done.

Mettaton stepped aside, clapped his hands together, and twirled his thumbs. Snow was melting beneath his feet as he averted his gaze.

“Our cute human gave me this f-fan-” He stopped then, his heart-shaped pupils widened against his irises as he realized that he had  _stuttered_. His hands clenched, and clearing his throat, he resumed. “ _Fantastic_  idea of making something that I…adore more than myself and stardom.”

Mettaton glanced at Frisk, who gave two thumbs-up  _and_  a slow nod. He returned his gaze to them, even as water puddled beneath his heels.

Napstablook was modeled in snow. They were even adorned with a sculpted top hat.

“I call it, ‘Dapper Blook,’” he joked. “Do you like it, Blooky?”

A blue flush bloomed on the ghost’s face. Embarrassed, Napstablook took the end of their scarf and hid their expression behind the wool, but eventually, much to his relief, they made a soft noise of approval.

Mettaton  _beamed_. He unclasped his hands before taking a tentative step closer, then dipped his body forward and kissed the crest of Napstablook’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> i have like one more silly idea for this pairing and after that im fresh out ripp


End file.
